In Cabo
by spheeris1
Summary: Season Three AU :: One-shot :: Ashley POV :: Some angst, some hope :: 'I'd tell you to give up now, you know, if I thought you would listen at all.'


**So I stupidly wrote this in .doc format and it has screwed up the 'flow'. Can't seem to get it to switch formats now. Bleh. Hope someone still likes it.**

/ / /

I'd tell you to give up now, you know, if I thought you would listen at all.

But you don't listen to me. At least, not like you used to.

Of course, it is hard to hear someone after they break your heart… isn't it?

It's hard for you to hear me these days, isn't it?

Still, I'd tell you to give up and to push those sunglasses down and to smile at me like you mean it – because I just know you do, somewhere deep down inside, I know you still feel it.  
And I'd tumble right into your arms.  
And I'd kiss you silly.

And I'd swear to never let you go.

But I stay upon my beach-towel and you stay upon yours.  
And I'm not sure why you agreed to come with me, I'm just glad you did.

I'm just glad to be around you at all these days.

/ / /

Everywhere is a tourist-trap, frilly drinks by the sea and over-weight guys in speedos from Atlantic City and steel-drum bands playing Top 40 to the elderly.  
None of it is as pretty as it could be. None of it is as amazing as it should be.

Except for you, of course.

You, turning golden in the sun and blue eyes like comets in the night. And I don't like the poetic mush moving around my brain, but I can't help myself.  
I think I am so tough and so untouched.

Then you chance a smile at me.

And my muscles falter. And I am reaching out for your hand, aching to hold it.

But it'll be a long time before you want to keep me close again, won't it?

It'll be a long, long, long damn time… won't it?

/ / /

She is hitting on you and you are letting her and I wish I had never begged you to come along, wish I have never said 'no expectations', wish I had never left L.A. in the first place, wish I had never let you go at all.

And the two of you dance. She moves with experience and I wonder if you know this.

I wonder if you know that she 'expects' things of you, just like I do.

Her long fingers on the small of your back. The way her leg slides slowly between your own.

Sometimes, I wish I had never fallen in love with you.  
Sometimes… I wish I had never met you.

And I know you, Spencer. I know you, I do.  
You don't do revenge, but that knowledge leaves me bitter and cold.

Because if you are not out to hurt me, then you must be moving on.

And I can't stand that.

/ / /

"Ashley… Ash, wait up!"  
"Leave me alone, Spence."  
"God… will you… will you just **slow down**?"

"No."

"What the **hell** is your problem?"  
"I don't have a **fucking** problem, okay? So just go back there and dance and do whatever you want!"  
"Oh, this is rich, Ashley. You're **jealous**?"  
"Fuck off."

I've wanted your hands on me for a while now, ever since the day I boarded that airplane and didn't call you back for weeks. I've wanted to feel your skin on mine, even before I ever met you.

That's how long I've wanted you.

This one burns, though. Grip hard on my wrist as you jerk me around and your gaze is like thunder and your lips are a fine line.

"Don't you dare, Ashley, don't you **dare**… You asked me to come down here. You asked me to just… to just… Dammit, Ashley, what do you **want** from me?"

I pull my arm away and feel the tingling all the way to my feet, all the way to my scalp, all the way to center of my body. I shake as the sensation rolls over me, as it practically crushes me.

"I want you back!"

And I don't want to cry, but I am. And I don't want to shout, but I did. And I don't want to hurt you, but it is all I seem capable of doing. And I don't know how to fix any of this, but I need to.

Can't you see? Can't you see how much I need to fix this? To fix us? To right these wrongs, to heal this wound, to give over what I took away…?

"Can't you see, Spence? Can't you?"

You freeze, just like I once did.

And just like you, I got my answer in that silence.

/ / /

I sat out there for so long, watching as the colors went from hot to cold – from orange and red, the tip of a match-head all the way to a gorgeous blue, flame about to go out… and then darkness.

All those well-paid people scurrying off to their hotel rooms.

All those drunken people falling down onto concrete and picked up by the staff.

All the tiki torches snuffed out, smoke left in their wake.

And only I remain.

Listening to the waves crash and the wind shift through the leaves, listening to the sound of hope dying in my chest and how it sounds a lot like pointless weeping.

And I want you to find me.

And I want you to let me go.

Fuck it all, I don't know what I want with us anymore. And maybe it's for the best that you didn't answer me, maybe it is for the best that you are over me.

Maybe this is all for the best, yea?

But it doesn't feel like it.

Not by a long shot.

/ / /

In my dream, I woke up to your face. And you told me to stay quiet and you brushed back my hair from my forehead and you looked into my soul like you owned it.

I wanted to tell you that you do, you know? You really do.

But you placed your palm over my mouth and whispered sweet words into my ear – lovely in their tone even if I truly had no idea what you were saying – and I smiled as I slipped away again.

And you held me. And you kissed my cheek.

And you said that you wanted me back, too.

/ / /

"Sorry about all of that. I had no right to get upset."

"…Where were you all night?"

"Oh, uh, I fell asleep on the beach… Woke up to some kid poking me with a plastic shovel."

"Oh."

You bite your bottom lip, like you are stopping yourself from smiling or sighing or both.

And I manage a timid grin before I leave you standing there, in the middle of our suite, legs barely carrying me to the bathroom.

Where I wash off the dirt, where I wash off the sweat, where I try to wash off the longing I feel every single time I see you, where I try to wash off my guilt and my despair and my sorrow.

It doesn't work.  
But I didn't really imagine that it would.

/ / /

Kyla comes down and it distracts me from you.  
And you from me, I think. Or I hope… I don't really know. I live on hope these days.

She laughs and you laugh and I grin at you both, hiding behind this newspaper in Spanish that I cannot really read.  
And guys are checking the two of you out, running their eyes over your curves.  
And the pool is full of children, screaming and jumping and splashing.  
And there are tons of tanned women around the three of us, nineteen to ninety-two, some are beautiful and some are trying too hard.

"From the gentleman at the far right of the bar."

A waiter smirks as he sits the glass down beside me and tilts his head the man in question, younger than the rest but still older than I'd ever do, and he smiles at me like he understands me.

But, of course, he doesn't.

There's only one person here who knows me at all and I can feel her stare on me, even if she thinks I cannot.

And I could fuck this up more. I could play this game and I'd win in the short-term, lose in the long-term.

I push the drink away.

"Tell him I'm not interested. Or thirsty."

Kyla flashes me an amused grin. You suddenly can't look at me at all.

But that's okay.

I told you… I'm living on nothing but hope these days.

Even if I don't know what I'll get in the end, I can wait.

/ / /

"Hey."  
"Hi."  
"What are you doing down here?"

"Thinking about swimming."  
"Thinking about swimming?"

"Yep."

You are dressed up and you look wonderful. I try not to gaze at you like a lover would, but I fail horribly.

"You and Kyla going out?"

"Yea, just for dinner… Um, you can come along, you know?"

"…Nah, that's okay. You guys have fun."

"Are you sure?"

Our eyes meet and I know I am not the only one who is wondering what we are doing here, in Cabo, side-stepping each other and pretending we are friends when we are anything but.

And your question is about tonight, but I can't help but think it is about so many other things, so many other times.

Am I sure that I love you enough to stick around? Am I sure that I need you enough to move mountains? Am I sure that I can settle down for you? Am I sure that I won't ever wound you again?

God, yes, I am sure. I am. I am. I so am.

"I'm sure, Spence."

My voice is soft and just for you and something in you seems to click into place – I catch it in your blue eyes, a swirl of shadows in all your light – and I push up, because I cannot keep looking at you and not grab you and not press my lips to your neck.

And I pull off my t-shirt, not caring about being naked underneath.  
And I dive into that pristine chlorinated water, slicing through it like a blade.  
And I break the surface and I look for you…

…but I knew you'd be gone.

/ / /

You are drunk and I can't trust anything.

Not you. Not myself.

Kyla is passed out on the couch, one shoe off and one shoe on, drooling onto expensive decorative pillows. I sit a bottle of water on the floor, close to where her hand dangles down.

But you, hair blown by the breeze off the ocean and with your bare feet, you are still awake.  
And you fall into me and I know it is more on purpose than you'd ever admit.

"I don't feel so great, Ash…"

"I bet you don't."

"Kyla made me do it. She made me drink and drink and drink."

"Uh huh…"

But you, you are leaning against me and I can feel your breath on my collar-bone and I silently quake with desire because your body is in my hands and I don't want to shove you away.

And I don't ask how you two got alcohol. I don't ask who bought these drinks and what fun you two had and whose heads you turned along the way.

I don't ask a single thing because my voice dries up.

Because you are kissing me.

You are kissing me and I am shocked and I gasp and you slip your tongue into my mouth and a groan rumbles out of me before I can think to halt it.

You taste like Coke and whiskey and salt and a million other Spencer-only things.  
And I could get trashed off of you, you know?

I could get well and truly wasted off of you.

Lord knows I want to.

You slowly pull away, a slight tug to my lip, and you give me a bleary-eyed smile as your fingers dance upon my hips. And I keep my eyes shut tight. And I try to regulate my breathing, which is more difficult than I ever thought it could be.

"You looked so **good**, Ash… I couldn't get you out of my head, all night, just you… Just you in my head, running around…"

And I can't look at you, drunk and heavy head on my shoulder and mumbling speech.  
I can't look at you and know that tomorrow makes these words invalid.

Tomorrow will take this confession and make it a secret again, one I shouldn't hear because the rest of you isn't ready to share it.

You aren't ready for me again, are you? You aren't ready for a 'you and I' again… are you?

And I don't know if you ever will be.

So, I guide your sleepy self to the other bedroom and let you crash to the mattress.  
And I walk away before I can't do so, before I break-down, before I curse – for the hundredth, thousandth time – that once-upon-a-time night where I couldn't just tell you how much I loved you and how I wanted no one else but you.

I walk away before I fall down to my knees and cling to you and promise you all the things I meant to, back when you had to have me and back when you adored me and back when you gave me everything inside of you – all of your affection and all of your devotion.

I walk away when all I want to do is run to you.

/ / /

"You two are something else."  
"Excuse me?"  
"You and Spencer."  
"What about us?"

"You are still so into her… aren't you?"

I don't answer. I don't have to. Kyla knows already, she's just doing that thing of hers, where she ponders and babbles and attempts to tidy up situations for others.

Even for a screwed up sister.

"Well, I think she loves you, too."  
"I know she loves me."  
"Really?"  
"I just don't think she needs me anymore."

"…Is that a bad thing?"

I don't answer. I can't answer, because I do not know if that is good or bad or neither at this point.

But you walk up to us, dropping unceremoniously into the lounge chair beside mine, keeping your eyes closed the whole time. And Kyla's conversation with me is officially done.

Hang-overs are a bitch. I would know, I've had more than a few.

How Kyla is okay is beyond me. Maybe it is just in our Davies genes, a high tolerance for negative substances and complete bull-shit.

And tomorrow is here. And that kiss is all I can focus on. And, yes, I am still so into you… I am still so in love with you, so much so that it hurts.

"Ashley, watch my stuff, I'm going to cool off."

Kyla's voice pulls me away and causes you to stir, squinting one eye open, and I want to stop all of this. Stop acting like this is all okay, like I can give you up, like I don't want to spend the rest of my life with you… I want to stop being who I used to be, Spencer.

I want to stop being who I used to be and just be with you.

You catch me looking and you don't look away. You slowly open the other eye and blonde hair is falling into your face and your lips part whether you are aware of that fact or not.

And you appear more sober than ever, clear as a damn bell, and something a lot like recognition rings out between us once more.

Something a lot like 'perhaps'.

/ / /

I sit out there for so long.  
I watch the sky go from hot to cold, from sunset to dusk, from day to night.

And all the tourists go back to their rooms, to their affairs, to their wet bars and to their other lives.

And all the fires go out, just embers and ashes left in their wake.

"You must like it out here."

I should be startled by you, but I'm not. I'm not sure if I was expecting you or not. Maybe I was just hoping for you. That's all I've been doing since the day I first met you.

Bet you didn't know that, did you?

Maybe one day I'll tell you all about it.

"It's quiet. Kind of nice."

"Ashley Davies liking silence? What's next? A retreat at some ashram with Kyla?"

I smile and chuckle. You do the same.

And you sit down beside me. And we don't talk for so long that I wonder if you've gone, if I made you up after-all, if all these days and months are pure fiction and you still live in Ohio –with a family intact and a heart not shattered.

"Why did you ask me to come with you, Ash?"

But there you are, delicate whisper caught on the air, and as if it is the most natural thing in the world… I reach out and grab your hand and I hold it with both of mine. I cradle it and press my lips to your knuckles before letting you go.

"You know why, Spence. You know."

/ / /

In my dream, I wake up to your face.

And even though I fucked up, you forgive me. And your fingers weave in and out of my hair and your palm cups my cheek and you brush your nose alongside my own.

I can't stop smiling as I pull you to me, memorizing all the ways we fit.

And I memorize all the ways we don't fit, but still manage to make it work.

And I can't stop smiling as your gentle laugh cascades into my ears, as it blankets me in your warmth, as it covers me with your love.

And you whisper sweet words to me.

And you want me back, too, Spencer.

You really do.

/ / /

Hope.

That's what I'm living off of these days.

And I'd tell you to give up now, you know, if I thought you would listen at all.

But maybe you've been hearing me all along.

Because I wake up to your face, so close to mine as you still slumber, and the damp sand under us and my arm over your side and one of your legs overlapping mine.

And there, with the dawn, is a beacon of all that might still be.

/ / /

**END**


End file.
